


Between Future and Past

by OrmondSacker



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, Lore Singer Michael, Prophetic Visions, Seeress Joann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 23:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19756054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrmondSacker/pseuds/OrmondSacker
Summary: Living a quiet life in Sirine, having found a place for herself, a woman she loves and who loves her, Joann is happy. But that is not to last when her Sight begins to give her visions again.





	Between Future and Past

**Author's Note:**

> For Spiritintheinkwell in the Sapphictrek femslash challenge. Not quite the thing the prompt asked for, but I hope they still enjoy it.

_Multi colored s_ _hadows creep up out of the_ _earth_ _everywhere she sets her_ _feet_ _,_ _slithering across the ground._ _They remind her of the_ gren _eels_ _that_ _her_ _aunt used to serve at the high meal on the Festival of the Saints. The taste had always turned Joann’s stomach and even the sight_ _made her queasy, as do these ephemeral beings._

_“Joann? Joann, where are you?” she hears Michael’s voice call,_ _a distant, fading echo_ _._

_She looks up from the ground, searching._

_Searching for Michael?_

_All around her_ _stand_ _tall, ancient trees, looming_ _above her. In front she sees a familiar stone setting_ _. Though she has only seen it once in her life, over ten years ago, she will never_ _forget_ _it_ _. It was_ _here_ _they found her all those years ago_ _._ _Michael,_ taslí ***** _Burnham_ _, Michael's mother and_ taslí _Culber_ _._ _Having run_ _away from her family because her gift of Sight made her a danger to them_ _and_ _unknow_ _ingly_ _having_ _crossed from the Empire into Sirine_ _seeking_ _only_ _a place she could be safe. She had found it among the Druids in Sirine where her rescuers had brought her, but right now Joann feels as_ _frightened_ _and unsafe as she had back then._

_There is danger here, one she cannot name but she feels it in every part of her being. Danger and something else._ _Why can't she See what it is?_

_That is her curse, or as it is seen here, her gift. The ability to see other places, other times. Things that have yet to happen or that happened long ago but no one witnessed._

_Is this the past or the future, or the now?_ _And why is she here, in this place where she was saved_ _so_ _many years ago_ _b_ _y strangers that became her family_ _._

A family better than the one she left _, an angry voice hiss in the back of her_ _mind_ _One that didn’t throw her aside, didn’t whisper behind her back._

_No! That wasn’t true. Her family had never done that, had always loved her, even when they knew, must have known, that those around them saw her Sight as a curse, as something that was a danger. And so she was a danger to the people she loved. That was why she had to leave, not because they wanted her to. They would have done anything, risked anything, to keep her. But she couldn’t let them, she loved them too much._

_She feels tears on her cheek and chokes back a sob._

_“Joann?” Michael calls again, even further away now._

_Joann’s heart begins to race in her chest._

_Why is Michael so far away_ _, she_ _needs her here_ _. She_ _has_ _to be here._

_'Michael, don’t go'_ _, she tries to call out, but her voice refuses to work._

_Turning around and around, she tries to find out where Michael’s voice was coming from, but the trees around her are getting taller and taller, twisting, the colored shadows wrapping around them, bending them. She can hear the trunks crack and snap._

_“_ _Michael!_ _she manages to choke out. “Where are you? I can’t tell where you are?”_

_Her call is met only with silence._

_A soft, sibilant but penetrating hiss fills the air, coming from behind her. Spinning she faces the stone setting once more._

_It is covered in the glowing figments; they are blotting out all but the mere outlines of the stones._

_The sight makes her heart beat painfully in her chest, fear race in her veins._

_No, no, no_ _no_ _no_ _._

_The_ _stone setting explodes, throwing her to the ground._

She wakes with a gasp, her heart still racing in her chest. Sweat is making her skin clammy, her rasping breath loud in her own ears. She can feel the sting of tears in her eyes and her throat is choked up. 

_Was that it? Just a nightmare brought on by-_

No, she knows better, it wasn’t just a dream, not all of it. It was a dream mixed with her Sight. 

When she was a child it had frighten her, how part of her mysterious dreams, those that felt a certain way like this one had, would become real. But never exactly as it happened. There was always something off, differences, because there were elements of her own dreaming mind too in those visions. Not like her waking ones that were always all her Sight. 

Using the breathing technique the druids taught her in how to regain control of herself after a vision, Joann slowly calms down again. 

She hears a soft grunt from Michael who sleeps next to her and she looks over at her sleeping lover. Her mouth is slightly open and she’s snoring softly. The normalcy of it all makes Joann’s heart ache and she wants to reach out and run a hand across Michael’s cheek, kiss her, but holds back. It might wake her and she would face more questions than she wants to right now. The vision has disturbed her thoroughly, more so than any other she’s ever had, the terror of it all lingering. She needs to think it all through, straighten out her feelings and thoughts. Everything is too jumbled in her head right now. 

Silently Joann rolls out of bed and grabs her cloak, slipping it over her nightshift. It is late spring, but the river that cuts through Salero, the city of the Druids, and the forest that surrounds it, makes certain that the climate is mild. And here, not long before dawn, the air outside will most certainly be chilly still. Perhaps she would do best to dress fully, but the sound that would make might wake Michael and she’d be in the same position that she does not want to be. Instead she grabs only her boots, in addition to the cloak, and slips out into the hallway. 

As a Lore Singer, Michael’s chambers, which Joann shares, are located in the Singers’ Lodge. Though they have been together long enough that perhaps they should find a mutual residence, Joann has resisted it. Every summer Michael journeys throughout Sirine, like all Lore Singers do, and Joann hates the thought of returning to empty chambers every day, when those rooms were meant to be shared. She finds it easier to live in her own room at the Crafter’s Hall on the other side of the river. That have only ever belonged to her alone. She misses Michael enough in the months that she is gone without a constant reminder of her absences. 

It is a yearly returning heartache for her, Michael leaving. But she knows she cannot change her, though they have talked about it. Michael is a Lore Singer at her core, she cannot change that. And Joann does not want her to clip her wings for her. But she misses her terribly. 

Nor does she want to go with her. Or rather, part of her does, the part that wants to be constantly at her side. But what would she, a spinner, weaver and crafter, do on the road? No matter how much Michael praises her voice Joann cannot see herself performing in public. 

Nor does she want to leave Salero. It is the first place where she has felt truly at home and safe in her life, where she is not met with constant suspicious stares from neighbors or strangers who have heard of her strange talent. She is content here, just as Michael is content with her life. And their yearly parting? That is simply something that they have to live with, it can be no different. 

But no of this is what is on Joann’s mind as she slips through the pre-dawn dark corridors of the Lodge, neither does she notice the elaborate story murals on the walls though at other times she often stops to appreciate them. Rather she hurries down and out into the cool night. 

But where to go? 

Returning to her own room in Crafter’s Hall would pose the same problems as she faced with Michael. There are always people up and about, some things can only be crafted at night, and there would be questions. And dawn has begun to faintly touch the sky, the first birds singing. Those making breakfast today will be around as well. 

No, the Hall is out of the question, as is any residential building. And most of the others are closed for the night. 

Maybe out of doors? 

Yes, of course. She knows the exact place where to go, where she will find enough peace until well into the day. Why didn’t she think of it sooner? It is after all one of her favorite spots. 

Smiling softly to herself, Joann heads off into the early twilight. 

**oOoOo**

Michael yawns and stretches out an arm, sleepily groping at the bed, searching for Joann. But her hand finds nothing but the bed itself. Her hand stops moving and she cracks one eye open. 

Yup, no Joann in the bed. 

Rubbing her eyes she sits up and looks around. 

Finding the room empty she illogically calls out, “Joann?” as if she can make her appear by voice alone. As could be expected, nothing happens. 

Realizing the absurdity of her action Michael snorts as she looks around again. 

Joann's green spring cloak is missing and Michael can't see her boots either. But her dress, belt, purse and the armband that Michael gave her at the winter solstice two years ago and she almost always wears are still lying where she put them last night when they got ready for bed. 

So she must have snuck out during the night, possibly not intending to be gone long enough for Michael to notice. 

But now the sun is clear in the sky, its light filtering through the curtains, long past the time where they would normally wake. 

So why hasn’t Joann come back? It isn’t like her to go wandering off without saying anything, certainly not in the middle of the night. 

She rolls out of bed and quickly dresses in her everyday blue dress and pale grey smock, slipping out of the room while still pulling on her boots. 

Michael makes her way to the great hall first. While unlikely that Joann would go there to eat with the other people in Singer’s Hall without dressing, perhaps someone has seen something. As she enters her stomach growls loudly at the smell of food, but she pushes her hunger aside, worry about Joann’s absence niggling at her. She can eat when she’s found her. 

Predictably there’s no sigh of Joann in the hall, but she spots Airiam and Ronald Bryce at one of the far tables. They are two of Joann’s closer friends here, and Bryce is on cooking duty this week, she knows, and thus would have been up early. A long shot she knows, but a place to start. 

“Morning,” Bryce says with great cheer when he sees her. “Pull up a piece of bench and try the cheese.” 

Airiam sends her a conspiratorial look. 

“He says that to everyone.” 

“Why?” Michael asks, momentarily distracted. 

“It’s from Evras and he can’t stop bragging about his home region,” Airiam whispers in a loud stage whisper. 

“What can I say?” Bryce smiles. “We do make the best cheese.” 

Airiam shakes her head, laughing softly and resumes eating. 

“Come on, sit down,” Bryce prompts her again, but Michael shakes her head. 

“Have either of you seen Joann this morning? She was gone by the time I woke.” 

Both of them murmurs a negative and Michael sighs. 

Where could she be? 

With a quick apology to the two others, Michael picks up a couple of breakfast rolls for herself and for Joann, wrapping them in a napkin and putting them in the pocket of her smock. If she’s hungry right now, Joann certainly must be, having been up a while. 

Michael searches all of the Hall first but neither the archives nor the kitchen, nor any of the other publicly accessible rooms, yields any success, or just knowledge of where she might have gone. 

Stepping outside Michael looks around, pondering where to search next. 

If she’s nowhere in Singers’ Lodge then surely she wouldn’t go back to her own room either. And there are precious few places she could go in the middle of the night. 

Salero is different from most Sirinese towns. Though like them it is open, with plenty of space for plants and trees to grow between the buildings and the paved roads, the buildings themselves are not large, sprawling houses, owned and lived in by extended families as would be the major case in other places, and with buildings meant for professions smaller and scattered between them. But here in Salero, with so many passing through and staying for varying periods of time, most of those professional buildings are much larger and have considerable residential space dedicated for living. 

With the joining of professional space and living spaces there are fewer places devoid of people, even at night, and Joann seemed to have wanted to avoid contact with others. So that leaves most places out, even the Archives often had people staying there. 

So if not a building, a place outside then. But where? As all Sirinese towns Salero have much greenery, the druids having learned and taught about how to make habitation possible with as little interference with nature as possible and there are many places where Joann could go if she wanted to hide, or just wanted some peace and quiet. 

Which of them could it be? 

As she considers the problem Michael’s feet carries her down the roads, through blooming fruit trees, berry bushes and flowers, and she casually greets the familiar faces she meets on her way, asking some of the more likely candidates if they’ve seen Joann, but without any luck. 

Maybe she should go back to Singers’ Lodge? Perhaps Joann had already come back and she was on a futile search? 

Yet some strange inkling tells Michael that she hasn’t. 

Perhaps she should search some of Joann’s favorite spots in the green areas? She might have gone to one of them. 

Yes, that’s a good idea. She’ll start with the statues of the founders of the Druids. Joann was always very fond of the memorial to those two women. She said Aden looked just like her mother and that Lei reminded her of _taslí_ Georgiou and that sitting by their feet made her feel safe. 

**oOoOo**

_It’s dark. So dark. Like a grave. And cold things_ _,_ _all around her._

_She shivers but not from the chill. There’s something else in here, another cold thing, colder than all the rest. And it’s angry. She can feel its rage, an icy burn in the darkness, a fury at its fate, a fate it seeks to circumvent._

_But if it does... If it does-_

Joann starts awake, for the second time that day, unsure this time of where she is. 

“Joann? Love?” 

Looking up she sees Michael crouching down next to her, kneeling down on the grass. 

_Grass? Why is she sitting on the grass?_ _Leaning against what? Something hard._

Muddled with sleep she sits up, looks at the carved stone next to her. 

_Aden?_

Of course, now she recalls. She came here because she’d had a vision-dream and had wanted to think about it. It seems she’d fallen asleep against one of the statues and then had had another. 

Remembering, she shivers, in spite of the sun shining bright in the sky, warming her through her cloak. 

“What’s wrong?” Michael asks her. 

Joann hesitates to speak. 

Though she has been here, in Sirine, in Salero, for a decade now, among people who viewed her Sight as a gift, something to be trained and appreciated, she cannot forget her childhood and youth. Cannot forget those suspicious, even hostile stares, that her talent had garnered her back then. How when she talked about her visions as a child her family would hush her up, though she realized years later that that had been for her own safety. 

No, though it is safe to speak here she doesn’t find it easy, and at times she doubts she ever will. The difference between what she was used to and what is here is too big and too stark. Something she cannot seem to make anyone understand, even Michael much as they love each other. That to her, her Sight will always be as much a burden as a gift and that too was why she had refused to be trained, wishing instead to be a crafter; a spinner and weaver. 

But the worry in Michael’s eyes compels Joann to offer some explanation and all she has is the truth. 

“I had a dream,” she says slowly. “In fact, I had two. One that woke me in the night. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep and I needed to think, so I came here. But it seems I fell asleep again.” 

“Two?” Michael asks, sitting down properly next to her and puts a comforting hand on Joann’s arm. “That’s unusual. Were they similar?” 

“No. Yes. In some ways.” Joann grimaces as she shifts closer to Michael and Michael puts an arm around her shoulder. “In both there was... something, a creature, person.” She huffs harshly. “I don’t know what it was. You were there too, in the first. But so far away.” 

She shivers again, recalling now how lonely she had felt in the moment she had believed Michael had vanished in the dream. 

Michael hugs her and Joann puts her head on Michael’s shoulder, trying to banish the chill she feels with the mutual warmth of the sun and Michael’s affection, but it won’t quite go away. 

“I’m right here,” Michael murmurs into her ear and Joann clings to those words. Then, looking down into Joann’s eyes she smiles and says, “I even brought you breakfast.” 

She holds out three _dranji_ rolls. Joann can smell the stuffing of fruits and nuts, and the oil used to cook the dough before Michael even unwraps them from napkin. In spite of the lingering memories of her vision-dream Joann's mouth waters. 

As she eats the fear, anger and loneliness she felt in her vision-dreams fades, though the images themselves, confusing though they still are to her, remains vividly clear. But then, her vision-dreams are always confusing and much vaguer than her waking vision, half vision, half dreamscape as they are. She’s not even sure if what she sees is past, present or future though in her waking visions she is always sure. 

Was for instance the entity she felt part of Sirine’s past? A ghost of the power mad wizards who once rules these lands before they were overthrown and destroyed? Or was it something yet to come? Was Michael’s presence there a signifier that she was involved in some way with the events? Or had she merely been a figment conjured of Joann’s own mind and worries, and her apprehensions about their yearly separation? 

She can find no answer to any of her questions. 

Propping the last bite of the last roll into her mouth, Joann brushes the crumbs off her nightshift, suddenly realizing that she’s sitting here in her night’s clothes and a cloak, her hair still wrapped in a scarf. 

_What would her mother say?_

A muted pang of pain, born of knowing that she’ll never again get the chance to hear what her mother would say, a pain that she knows will never go away no matter how long she’s here or how happy she is, stabs her. Then she pushes to her feet with a suppressed sigh. 

As often as she’s dreamt of contacting her family, asking them to come to Sirine, she knows it is a futile fantasy. Her family would never agree to move so far away from all they knew and what right has she to ask them to uproot themselves, from the life they know and all the extended family, all their friends? 

Her melancholy must show, because Michael puts her arms around her again and hugs her tightly. 

Michael follows her back to the Hall before continuing on with her day, leaving Joann alone to dress. 

After she has done that Joann considers what she should do with her day. She doesn’t want to speculate on her vision-dreams, they’re too vague and confusing, and her thoughts will only end up chasing their own tail. No she needs something practical to do. 

There’s still the last of the wool from the spring sheering that needs to be spun and dyed. Or she could work on the dyes for the leather or the linen, they will be needed later in the year after the _nashij_ _grass_ have been harvested and the livestock slaughtered for the winter. 

Spinning she decides. The day is already too warm for her liking and the rooms in the Hold used by the spinners is always delightfully cool this time of year. 

Others have long since started working by the time she arrives, but she is greeted warmly by them as she finds a seat by one of the windows, and begins to spin the wool. Her fingers easily create a fine, slender thread, that winds its way around the spindle. Around and around it goes, in its hypnotic rhythm. 

_A web stretches out before her, around her and as she tries to move, she can feel the strands holding her in place._

_“There’s something hunting you,” she hears_ taslí _Culber’s voice say off to her side, but she cannot turn her head far enough to see him._

_“But what could it possibly want with me?” answers a man’s voice she’s never heard before._

_“It can’t be. That’s impossible,” comes Michael’s voice, off to her other side. “Don’t go, it’s too dangerous. You’re a weaver, not a warrior. There must be another way.”_

_She tears at the web, but the strands hold her like in a vice. The pull at her in turn, assuming a life, a will of their own, shimmering in so many colors, cold as cold as the grave. Cold and filled with rage._

When the physical world reasserts itself she finds herself sitting on the floor, Marger, one of the other people spinning, kneeling in front of her. 

“Joann, are you okay?” they ask her. “You just slid off your chair.” 

“Yes. Yes, I’m...fine.” She gets to her feet, dusting off her skirt. “I need to-” 

_“-go find Michael,”_ are the words she bites back. 

To what purpose? There’s nothing she can do and the vision is as vague as the others. Though this one was a waking vision and Joann now knows, with a certainty she cannot quite explain, that this one was of the future. And the feeling of the web and its strands reminded her of her two dream-visions. 

But though of the future there is nothing that indicates that they refer to something imminent, and to run to Michael now, all agitated, will only cause her meaningless alarm. 

No, calm down first, think. Then she could talk to Michael. 

She takes a deep breath and looks at Marger, who’s looking back with dark, worried eyes. 

“I really am fine.” 

“If you say so,” Marger says slowly, fiddling with their skirt. 

“But thank you for your concern,” Joann goes on, taking Marger’s hand, not wanting to dismiss their consideration. 

With a nod and a smile, Marger returns to their seat and Joann too sits down again, picking up the spindle and wool from where they’d fallen from her hands. Mechanically she resumes her work, her mind occupied with the three visions, she has much to ponder before she talks to her lover. 

She goes in search of Michael just before the evening meal, she wants to talk to her before they eat and she is calm and certain enough now that she feels she can. And she wants to do it before Michael can perhaps successfully distract her tonight. 

She finds her in the Archives as she knew she would, Michael seated on one of the reading pulpits engrossed in a scroll. Most likely she is readying for her summer journey, planning where to go, which stories to share with others, rumors she wants to chase. 

Joann studies her at first without approaching, trying to commit every single detail to her memory. The shape of her chin, the way she’s styled her hair, the soft tapping of her fingers against the wood of the table as she reads, lost from the world in the words. 

Or perhaps not quite lost. Michael must feel her eyes, because she looks up and sees her. 

“Joann? What are you doing here?” 

“I needed to talk to you.” 

Michael stands and walks to her. 

“What about?” 

“I had another vision. A proper one, not just a dream, while I was spinning. Michael, I wish you wouldn’t leave this year.” 

“You know it’s what I do. It’s part of being a Lore Singer.” 

“I know but- And I will never try to change who you are or what you love, but- I saw... Something is coming- No, it’s already here. It's dangerous, deadly. Merciless. And it will reach you and me, and maybe all of Sirine.” 

Putting her arms around Joann’s waist she offers her a small kiss on the lips. 

“Is that not all the more reason to go,” she says with a frown. “If there is something out there that threatens us. Something new we haven’t heard of yet, then we need to learn about it. And who better to find that than the Lore Singers. It’s what we do. And what could it be? The Empire has been dormant since their failed invasion a century ago. The Tirgan are hiding in their mountain ruins as they have for all eternity. What little remains from the Eldrich War is dormant or the Druids would know about it. So this must be new.” 

Joann shakes her head. 

“No, I think it’s old. Very old. I can’t quite explain it, there was nothing solid in any of my visions but Michael, I think this is very, very old indeed.” 

“Then why haven’t anyone sensed anything till now?” 

“I don’t know. Michael I have as many questions as you and not all that many more answers. But this is something I _know_.” 

“Forgive me, Joann. I didn’t mean to sound like I doubted you. I don’t. I just don’t see how this can be.” 

“Neither do I and yet I am certain that it is. That is why I wish you would stay here this summer. So that we at least could be together when it reveals itself.” 

Michael hugs her and kisses her again. 

“Have you told the Council about this? Or talked to anyone form the Assembly?” 

Joann shakes her head. 

“It is all so... uncertain,” she says. “So vague.” 

“But you are certain it was of the future?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then they should be warned. However vague this is. So other Lore Singers can keep a look out and so druids, both those in Salero and those away can be warned.” 

Joan tries not to squirm. She has nothing against the Druidic Assembly or their central Council, they have been nothing but kind to her since she arrived. 

When she arrived, she had expected animosity considering the history between Sirine and the Empire and the Empire’s invasion less than a century before, but however much the Sirinese in general and the Druids in particular views all things Imperial with suspicion they had made her feel welcome in spite of her land of origin. 

But she has never been quite comfortable addressing them. Or any of the druids, Michael’s mother and _taslí_ Culber aside. Their eyes see too much and too deep, their attention primed as if they’re sensing things she could not even dream of. Perhaps that should have made her feel more kin to them, with her own ability to see other places and other times, but it only makes her feel awkward and embarrassed. 

“It can wait till tomorrow,” she says finally, knowing from the look in Michael’s eyes that if she doesn’t address them herself, Michael will. 

She can’t help but smiling fondly at the thought. Michael have always been headstrong and determined, and once she has decided that something is right or wrong, little will sway her. And once she decides something needs doing, she will see it done. 

“What?” Michael asks her. “Why are you smiling.” 

“I love you. That’s all.” 

Michael smiles back, a bit tentative. 

“That was out of the blue.” 

Then she frowns. 

“Joann, if you think to distract me-” 

Joann laughs, interrupting her. 

“Not at all. I know you Michael. You think the Council needs to be informed, they’ll be informed. One way or another. You always carry through what you intend to. It’s me who sits forever pondering what to do, then never doing anything.” 

“That’s not true, about you. And you know it. Yes you take time to think things through. Maybe I could learn a little from that and not always rush ahead.” 

“And perhaps I should take a lesson from you too, about acting more decisively.” 

“Mmmm, well then it’s a good thing we have each other to learn from,” Michael says as she takes Joann's hand and kisses her knuckles. 

“And I promise you, whatever comes. I will not leave you.” 

She puts her arms around Joann’s waist and Joann allows her to be pulled close and cradled in Michael’s arm. It is a promise she knows Michael might not be able to keep. Though she would never leave her willingly, there are many things that could tear them apart unwillingly. 

She pushes that thought aside and tries to find the comfort she can in Michael’s arms. Whatever comes, here and now they are together. That is all they can ever really be certain of and it is a more precious thing than anything she had ever imagined having. 

**oOoOo**

Later that evening as they lay in bed, Michael studies the sleeping Joann in the faint light of the moon. She’s curled up on her side, one hand reaching for Michael in her sleep. 

Those recurring visions worries Michael. Visions are rare enough, even for Joann who, though she would never say so herself, is one of the best seers alive. For her to have three in less than a day is a lot, like whatever those visions were about were strong and imminent. 

But why then had there been no other warnings? Why had no one else sensed anything? Was Joann’s Sight better than anyone suspected? Or was there another explanation? 

Perhaps the Council could offer an explanation tomorrow? 

She’s already resolved to go with Joann. Not that she thinks she’ll avoid going. Once Joann decides to do something, she carries through, no matter how uncomfortable it may be for her. It is a strength and a flaw both. 

She leans down and kisses Joann’s cheek, smiling in the low light. Joann is just as headstrong as her, though far quieter and more reserved, where Michael leans towards loud and opinionated. Her mother used to call her determined and vocal as a child and that haven’t changed, but Joann can match her stride for stride. 

Lying down she puts her arm around Joann, pulling her close. 

The whole thing makes her loathed to leave. Not so much because of danger she might find herself, but she hates the thought of Joann being alone if something larger threatens them all. But being a Lore Singer is too ingrained in her, it’s all she’s ever wanted to be and that requires travelling. And perhaps she can find more about whatever this threat that Joann perceived is. 

But all of this are worries for tomorrow, for tonight they are here together. 

**Author's Note:**

> * _taslí_ : An honorific used about an older person, related or unrelated, that the one using it respects.
> 
> A sneaky Author's note:  
> The people who read Shadowed Dreams may have realized by now that this story takes place in that universe. I decided I could get away with doing that for the femslash challenge because this story is entirely selfcontained in spite of that. While reading this may grant background for the other, everything you need to know about Michael, Joann and the universe to understand and enjoy this story is contained within.


End file.
